


une barque sur l'océan

by skai_heda



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Not Compliant with Avatar Comics, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skai_heda/pseuds/skai_heda
Summary: Katara of the Southern Water Tribe and Fire Lord Zuko are to be wed in the winter, four years after the end of the war. Fire Nation weddings typically happen in the summer, but Zuko's built his new policies on compromises, compromises for the sake of peace.He will marry wearing shades of blue rather than red and gold—another compromise. The ceremony will be grand and festive, and Zuko will drag Katara away from the festivities and to her chambers where he will not kiss her goodnight, and she will not invite him in. They will share a small smile, and they will begin the rest of their lives.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 346





	une barque sur l'océan

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a musical piece of the same name, and it means 'a boat in the ocean.' i suggest you listen to it while reading this fic—i think it kind of captures the whole feeling of the story really well. some of you may recognize the piece from Call Me By Your Name.

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe and Fire Lord Zuko are to be wed in the winter, four years after the end of the war. Fire Nation weddings typically happen in the summer, but Zuko's built his new policies on compromises, compromises for the sake of peace.

He will marry wearing shades of blue rather than red and gold—another compromise. The ceremony will be grand and festive, and Zuko will drag Katara away from the festivities and to her chambers where he will not kiss her goodnight, and she will not invite him in. They will share a small smile, and they will begin the rest of their lives.

* * *

The idea is proposed to him in spring, at a war council, where he sees his friends all together for the first time in a long time. Unless he counts the annual dinner parties, but after fighting a war with someone, dinner parties don't particularly matter.

He's apologized profusely to them all—apologized to Toph for wrenching her away from her new academy. Suki, for pulling her away from training the Kyoshi warriors. He's apologized to Sokka for holding him back from his training as the new chief of the Southern Water Tribe, and lastly—to Aang and Katara, for momentarily keeping them away from traveling the world, restoring peace and order.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely necessary," Zuko tells them, because even after all this time, he worries about his place in a constantly spinning world, even as he steps into every day with the headpiece of the Fire Lord set into his hair.

He's given everything—he's compromised and he's sacrificed and he's been a leader. A good one, and he knows it. But he also knows that he cannot just undo the damage of a hundred years of war in four years of peace. There is no show of unity, no milestone to celebrate peace.

"The Fire Lord could marry the Water Tribe girl," councilor Du Yun says bluntly. Zuko doesn't miss the way Aang freezes at that, the way Sokka's fingers grip his seat so tightly his knuckles whiten.

"Refer to _Master_ Katara with respect," Zuko orders sharply. "And do not speak of her as if she wasn't sitting here in this room."

"The councilor has the right idea," Katara says after a good two minutes of silence. Aang's hand reaches out and closes around Katara's wrist, his eyes wide with panic. "It will be a good way to show unity." She glances up, chin held high. "A marriage of convenience."

"Don't," says Zuko. "Please, don't force yourself into this. There are better ways—"

"Everything comes with a price, Fire Lord Zuko," she says. Katara hasn't looked at him this closely since the war. "Even peace. And it's a price that I'll pay, alright? It could be a lot worse."

This how a war council turns into a session of wedding planning—something that would have made them laugh, if they were still children and they still knew the taste of freedom.

* * *

"It won't be all bad," she says to him softly one evening, weeks after their friends have left, leaving Katara behind to learn the ways of being Fire Lady. "Aang and I will still be together. So will you and Mai. It's really only for the sake of appearance."

"Do you think that takes away the meaning of it?" Zuko asks her. "Do you think that makes the resulting peace less important?"

"No," Katara answers immediately. "Our hearts are in the right place. That's all that matters."

Now would be an appropriate time to take her hand and hold her under the moonlight, his glowing fiancee. But the prospect of their marriage is no more substantial than a dream, despite it being the most real thing in the world.

* * *

The official engagement party is held in the summer, and all of their friends are there. Those closest to Zuko and Katara know of their actual predicament, for the councilors have asked that they make it seem as though Zuko and Katara are marrying for love.

_A love that transcended war._

It feels wrong to Zuko—the idea of marriage itself. His people have caused Katara and her own people so much pain and grief, have destroyed almost everything she holds dear to her heart. Katara may have forgiven him, but the idea of nearly forcing her to marry him makes Zuko's skin crawl. It is not what he wanted for anyone, and he can't help but feel, despite Katara's assurances, that this makes the unity between the nations ingenuine.

It reminds him all too much of his mother. To have her life and her heart stolen for the sake of something bigger.

* * *

"We should dance," Zuko says to her softly from his seat beside her. He can't afford to request, to ask in a harmless, friendly way.

He stands, extending his hand and Katara takes it, allowing him to guide her out onto the floor. "Zuko," she says softly. "I can't dance well. I never learned."

Zuko tilts his head forward. "I can teach you."

Katara glances sideways, trying to ignore the sting in her heart when she sees Aang. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Always."

"I don't want to be here," she tells him. "I'd rather be anywhere than here."

Zuko gazes down into her eyes. "I can make up some excuse for you to leave. I'll say you had some other business to attend to—"

"No," she says sharply, then sighs. "I want you to come with me, if that's alright." Katara pauses. "It would make more sense. Raise less suspicion."

The real reason she wants him to be with her right now is more because she needs the comforting presence of a friend, but she doesn't really want to admit that out loud. Zuko nods, glancing sideways at the crowd of people nearby. "Let's just go then."

He grabs her hand and he tugs her away from the festivities, plastering a smile onto his face. She tries to do the same, but she's afraid she won't be able to hold it.

Zuko takes her to what he once told her is his favorite courtyard, a small fountain with turtle-ducks near a grassy area with a tree nearby. Together they sit by the trunk, shoulders touching.

"I'm so sorry," she hears Zuko say quietly. "I never wanted this, Katara. I never wanted you to go through this. Ever."

"Fixing a war is never easy."

He turns his head to her. "Stop talking about the war. Stop making this about peace, okay? Why can't you ever just focus on what you want? On your own happiness?"

Katara draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them. "Because if everything was all about ourselves, we'd never get anything done."

Zuko puts a hand on her shoulder. "Let me tell the truth, at least. Let it at least be known that this is a marriage of convenience—"

"How is that supposed to help?" she says sharply. "How do you think that's going to look to the nations? At best, they'll just find it weird and ineffective. At worst, it might look like you forced me to marry you."

"That's basically it, isn't it?" he answers bitterly. 

"It's _not._ I know you have the power to override whatever conclusion the council may come to, and I know you've been trying. But I made my choice, and you should respect my decision because I'm your best friend. Understand?"

"Do you even know what you're agreeing to, Katara?" he asks. "This is going to last forever, alright? Even if we find some way to split, it'll have to be after—after years. Decades, maybe."

"It won't be absolutely horrible, Zuko. It's not like we still hate each other."

"You can't just give up everything like that!" he protests. Katara looks away, unable to bear the way his eyes seem to overflow with emotion when he speaks to her, vulnerable in a way that she suspects only she's seen. "Aang, your freedom, your choices—"

"My happiness isn't more important than peace." She glances sideways at him. "You're the Fire Lord, Zuko. You should have your priorities straight."

He touches her arm. "Nothing I say will change your mind about marrying me, will it?"

She tries to smile at Zuko. "It's okay, really. We might even enjoy it."

"Katara..."

"Just—at least let me see Aang." Her voice wavers for the first time during the conversation as she fights to talk past the lump that has formed in her throat.

 _"Let you?_ You don't need my permission for anything, Katara. We'll work something out. Although, we wouldn't need to do this if—"

"Stop trying to convince me to stop this," she says, gazing up at the moon. "I've already made up my mind. And you know that I won't be changing it."

* * *

During autumn, when the stifling heat has died down slightly, plans are made, lessons are taught, and the world goes on as if lives haven't been thrown viciously off balance. 

If one were to peer into Zuko and Katara's lives through a small window, perhaps they wouldn't notice anything wrong. They'd see the two sitting and discussing anything and everything—trade routes, hospital constructions, flower gardens, memories. 

They will see that one night, they are alone in a courtyard and Zuko teaches Katara how to dance. She remarks on how uncharacteristic his aptitude for dancing is, especially given his endearing awkwardness. And he will smile and reposition her hand on his shoulder, and he will tell her about how his mother used to teach him. 

"You never talk about your mother," Katara tells him.

"I'm going to marry you," Zuko replies. "We can talk to each other about anything we want."

* * *

"I wish your mother could see you now," Hakoda says gently, crossing his arms. "You look perfect, Katara."

"What do you think she'd say about all this?" Katara asks him. "This whole—fake marriage thing."

Hakoda sighs. "Well, I know she'd be proud of you, just as much as I am. Maybe even more. But she'd want you to think about yourself, too. What you want."

She looks away from him and back to the mirror, observing the beautifully made dress the color of a winter sea, a light greyish-blue. "You sound like Zuko."

"He cares. We all do."

Katara looks back at her father. "I promise it'll be okay. I promise."

* * *

Zuko and Suki, who has been appointed the head of the Royal Guard, stride down a long corridor, ready to greet the guest that has been brought to the palace.

"You don't have to do this, Zuko," Suki sighs. "Today isn't the day."

"You don't have to treat this like an actual wedding," Zuko reminds her. 

Suki rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Zuko freezes when he sees her at the end of the hall, iron gloves on her hands and guards standing behind her. Suki's wearing formal attire for the wedding, but he can tell she's ready for a fight.

"Azula," Zuko says finally, fighting to keep his voice even. "Why were you asked to be brought here?"

"It's my brother's wedding," she says in a lazy drawl, her hair falling over her face. "It would be rude to not stop by and congratulate you."

"We both know you never cared about having good manners when it came to me," he snaps. "Why are you really here?"

"You're an excuse," Azula muttered. "I wanted to come back here. See the palace again. Be out of that miserable place."

"You could've come back sooner," Zuko tells her, fingers curling into fists. "If you felt even a single bit of remorse for everything you've done, if you ever even cared about me. But I know you didn't. And you never will. And you'll _never_ regret what you did, because you're empty. There's nothing inside of you. No love, and no guilt."

She looks up, and he can really see how pale and sunken her face is, barely clinging to the touch of his mother's beauty she used to have. "I hope you have a good day today, Zuko. I do."

It occurs to him that Azula doesn't even know the truth.

Zuko turns and walks away with Suki on his heels, and even though he wants to, he doesn't look back at his sister.

* * *

Katara finds him in a corridor near the place where the wedding will take place, in a large courtyard under the sun. 

"You look good in blue," she says quietly to Zuko, her eyes landing on the golden headpiece in his hair.

"I don't hate it," he admits, taking her hands. "You know, there are about a million superstitions saying that I shouldn't be seeing you on the day of the wedding. Until the wedding, I mean."

"I think we can afford to overlook superstition in this situation," she says, looking down at their hands. 

"Katara," he says softly. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to call off the wedding and I will. _Tell me."_

She's silent for a while. "No," she says finally. "I won't."

He blinks. "I just want you to be happy."

Katara smiles. "I am. I am a little bit happy. I swear, I can't even really understand why. But I am, at least, just a little happy."

Zuko tilts his head back to look at her better. "For what it's worth," he says, squeezing her hands, "I think you look really pretty."

She smiles. It's small, but it's the most real smile she's had in days. "Thank you."

He blushed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I'll see you at our wedding then, I guess."

"See you," Katara replies, and as she walks away she has a moment, the smallest eternity where it doesn't all seem so bad after all.

* * *

Through the long process of one of the Fire Sages reading something long about a union and the responsibilities as Fire Lady, through a million repetitions of 'I do' and 'I will' and 'I swear,' Katara looks at her friends, but mostly she looks at Aang. As much as she can without raising suspicion, anyway. He tries to smile encouragingly at her, but she can see the pain in his eyes.

 _It's not the end of us,_ she tries to say with all the looks she gives him. _It's not over._

And she looks at her brother and Toph and Suki—all watching the wedding with the same mixture of sadness and happiness. They all know it isn't real, but even Katara can't deny that there is excitement in the air, even if she can't feel it herself.

And then she looks at Mai, Ty Lee, and Uncle Iroh, but she can't keep her gaze on them for long, not without feeling guilty.

And at last, when it's almost over, when the promises have been made, she and Zuko face each other. He really does look wonderful in the dark blue, almost black version of his Fire Lord regalia. And despite everything, he looks at her like she's a sky full of stars.

One of the Fire Sages hand Zuko a golden headpiece that shines in the sunlight, and carefully, almost lovingly, he sets it in Katara's hair. There's something in his eyes that she can't quite understand, the way his look seems to ignite her from the inside.

"Kiss the bride," one of the Fire Sages say, "and seal the bond of unity. Let the Fire Lady be born into the fire of love."

It would be wrong to look at Aang now, to look at anyone but Zuko. She's frozen, and he slowly puts his hands on her waist with a question in his eyes.

_As if she has the choice of saying no._

But she nods anyway, and Zuko spares her an apologetic glance before leaning forward and gently touching his lips to hers, bringing his hands up to cup her face. Part of her rebels against the sensation and she can't help but think of Aang, wish it was Aang kissing her instead of Zuko.

But oddly, the kiss is comforting, and she nearly hates herself for feeling that way. His lips are softer than she imagined, and his warmth keeps her tethered firmly to reality.

And for one hearbeat, she can almost imagine that this wedding is real, that she really does love Zuko, and that today really is the happiest day of her entire life.

* * *

Two months after their wedding, when winter is slowly starting to recede and temperatures rise into spring, Katara makes plans to see Aang.

"Somehow, I think the council is going to miss you," Zuko says, taking her hand as soon as they step out into the city where everyone can see them. "You've been—a really good Fire Lady."

"It's alright," Katara says to him. "Was your—I mean—was your mother a good Fire Lady?"

Zuko can feel that familiar dull sinking of his stomach that happens whenever someone mentions his mother. "She didn't really have the same roles and responsibilities as you do. I mean, my father, he just—kept her as some sort of prize, despite the fact that she was the most talented and smart woman I've ever known." He looks down, sighing. "You know, I've changed things a lot. The role of Fire Lady is more of my equal rather than my, uh—wife."

Despite everything, Katara blushes and glances away from him. "It's still weird to hear you call me your wife. Even though it's not..."

She trails off, not finishing the sentence. She doesn't need to.

They reach the port—Katara will be traveling to the Southern Water Tribe by boat, and she'll be gone for three weeks. They've had their cover story in order—she's gone to attend to some issues back home, to start pulling the Southern Water Tribe out of their isolation.

Before she boards, she turns to Zuko, her hair blowing in the wind. Zuko's acutely aware of everyone nearby that watches them with wonder, the Fire Lord and the Fire Lady.

"Be safe," he says, and he slowly, tentatively leans forward to kiss her forehead. "Come back to me, okay?" he adds, as a fisherman walks by. 

She nods. "Always."

* * *

Mai is sitting on his bed when he returns to his quarters, and she smiles at the sight of him. "I've been waiting for you," she tells him, standing and wrapping her arms around him. Zuko hugs her back, feeling strangely exhausted.

"So," she says. "We'll finally get to be alone for the first time in a while, yeah? I haven't been able to see you since you officially got engaged."

"I know," he murmurs, pressing his face into her hair. He feels like he's floating, like everything within him has come loose, spinning into a void. He wants to tell Mai he missed her, but he can't seem to speak.

"What's it even like?" Mai asks him quietly. "Being married to her."

"It's normal, I guess," Zuko responds. "We have our responsibilities. We talk. That's all there is to it, really." He looks down at her. "I don't want to talk about it."

Mai smiles slightly. "We don't have to talk, then."

* * *

Zuko has never been good at lying to himself—he's done it for years and years, but he knows that in the end, he could never deny the truth, not to himself.

So when Katara returns, he opens her arms and she sinks into his embrace, if not with a touch of confusion marring the happiness that still glows on her face after she comes back from her time with Aang. 

There are people around, as always. The port has never not been busy, not in decades.

"I missed you," he tells her. It would be easy for Katara to believe that it's all for show, for the sake of maintaining the picture of a perfect marriage, but he knows the truth. A truth he cannot really make sense of, not now, not ever.

Zuko tells her that he misses her, and though Katara doesn't know it, he means it.

* * *

They've been married for nearly half a year when summer ascends to its peak. And for the most part, they haven't had too many issues. They've lived together, and they have somehow managed to memorize the finer details of each other without ever really meaning to.

Zuko knows exactly how Katara likes her tea, Katara knows that there isn't a single food in the world that Zuko will find too spicy. He knows about how she spends some of her nights practicing bending forms under the moon, the same way she knows the exact time when Zuko starts to get too sleepy to properly function.

Sometimes, he still gives her lessons on dancing. Sometimes, she comes and joins him during his review of some particularly tedious files. And they live together as best as they can. They have their small, unnecessary fights, but day by day, they make it. They spend hours together, learning, talking, living.

It's not perfect by any means, but it's them. And sometimes, for both Zuko and Katara, it is almost enough.

* * *

They read together, sometimes. Islands of tranquility in the middle of an endless storm.

Zuko thinks of Mai, and he knows Katara thinks of Aang. That's the price of forbidden love, the price of peace.

"You okay?" she asks. She sits close to him, seeming to be having a rare moment of peace in the turbulence of their everyday lives.

"Fine," he lies. He doesn't understand why it's a lie, but it is. 

"Hey. Look at me."

And here lies the center of his sorrow, in the endless blue of her eyes. And with one look at him, she understands. 

"You can't still be feeling guilty, can you?" she asks quietly.

"How could I not be?" he asks her. "After everything I've done, how could I possibly even face you every day?"

She shakes her head. "Zuko, don't act like you've committed a crime against humanity."

"I know it hurts you. And believe me, it hurts me, too."

"Do you really find this situation that horrible?" she asks quietly, and Zuko blinks. He wasn't expecting it to go this way.

"I don't," he admits.

"Neither do I," Katara says. "Not most of the time, anyway."

He tilts his head, putting one cheek against the wall they sit by. Somehow, despite all the comfortable couches and sofas in Zuko's rooms, he and Katara sit together on the floor a lot. Maybe it reminds them of another time, traveling together as kids. Katara seems to be hesitating for a bit before she reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be honest, Zuko. I expected it to be a lot worse. I expected to be isolated and locked away in this palace."

Zuko exhales sharply. "Katara, you know I'd never—"

"Let me finish," she says, putting a hand against his mouth. It's an alarmingly intimate gesture. "Zuko, I know you'd never do that to me. I _know._ But you still have your fears, you know? But it wasn't like that all." Slowly, she removes her hand from his face, fingertips unintentionally skimming his lips. "I get to help people here. People listen to me, and for the most part, they respect me. I used to dream about at least doing some small thing to fix the war. And now, I can help so many people, with you by my side. I still get to travel, and—you and I still get to see the people we love."

Zuko sighs softly. "You don't hate it?"

"Of course not. And you're—you've been a good friend of mine since the war, and in the last few months we've become even better friends. It makes me sad, but I don't hate this life with you, Zuko. I don't."

He's exhausted and he's still torn apart by remorse, and he forgets to think. He seems to collapse slightly, his head landing on her shoulder. "You could've been so much happier if you didn't do this."

Katara doesn't answer, but she does eventually put her head against his.

* * *

On the first anniversary of their wedding day, it rains.

Neither can believe that it's been an entire year—both of them feel as they were only married days ago. And yet, it seems as though it has been decades.

They are both busy that day, and they barely speak at all. But in the evening, when Katara is alone in her quarters, one of the handmaidens bring a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a note. The tea itself is, honestly, much too good to have been made by Zuko and not Uncle Iroh. The looping, surprisingly neat script on the piece of paper is, however, unmistakably the Fire Lord's.

 _Happy Anniversary,_ it reads, and even through the black ink, she can sense the almost mocking tone of it.

Katara drinks the tea, and she smiles. And a few rooms away, sitting by a small pile of discarded messages, Zuko smiles as well.

* * *

Katara visits Aang the following spring, once again at the Southern Water Tribe. He smiles when he sees her, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

They have a pretty good day—he's organized a picnic for her, and later at night, they sit in the snow and they watch the starry sky.

"Katara?" he says quietly, lying on his back. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

He turns his body to face her. "Do you—do you like being married to Zuko?"

She frowns. "Aang. You know it's—you know it doesn't mean anything. I'm not miserable, but I miss you. Every second of every day. You have to know that."

"I do," Katara," he sighs. "It's just—forget it, I'm sorry." He sighs. "Sometimes it makes me so angry, and I hate how unfair it is to all of us. To be going around in secret."

"Aang, it's not like it's an affair—"

"It is," he says firmly, looking away from her. "No matter what the situation is, it's just a glorified affair."

"Aang."

"It's upsetting enough that I won't ever get to really marry you," he sighs. "Spend a life with you. Be happy with you."

"Aang, we can still have that!" she implores, and her heart is pounding. She feels like she's drowning, like all the breath is leaving her body, her world. "It won't be the way we've always wanted—"

"We barely see each other even now," Aang counters quietly. "You're the _Fire Lady,_ Katara. You can't just leave that all behind to have some secret life with me."

She cups his face with her hands. "Don't," she says. "I love you, Aang. You have to know that."

Gently, Aang pushes her away. "Don't you think this is hard for me, too? I never wanted this. Any of this. But I can't go on the way we are. I can't keep causing us both more pain."

Katara swallows, unable to wrap her head around this. It feels like a dream, too blurred around the edges, too surreal. A terrible dream, but she'll wake up. She has to.

"Why would you let me go if you still love me?" she asks.

"Because all I want is for you to be happy."

Katara scoffs. "You think I'll be _happy_ if you do this? If you and I just try to forget what we had?"

"You'd be happier if you didn't have to live like this, Katara! I know you, okay? I know it feels wrong."

"I'd marry you if I could," she says. "I'd give anything to be with you the way I want, Aang."

"You had a choice, Katara."

Despite everything, anger starts to bubble in her stomach, rising to her throat like fire. "Are you saying you wanted me to choose between you and peace?"

Aang flinches. "No, I—that's not what I meant." He looks at her, watching her carefully with his grey eyes. "If you could go back and do it all again, would you? Would you marry him?"

She knows the answer. They both do. They always have.

And she wants to think that it's for the best, that it's for some entirely selfless reason. And to her relief, she knows that's exactly what Aang believes. 

"We'll be friends, Katara," Aang says. He's crying, tears glimmering like jewels on his face. "Always. But you know that everything else ends here."

Katara presses her palms to her face, feeling too much, feeling nothing at all. 

"I always admired the way you put others first," Aang tells her. "Really, I did. I do."

He squeezes her shoulder before leaving, and she wants to explode.

* * *

"You're back early," Zuko tells her once she descends the ramp, once her feet touch the dock, weathered by water and sunlight.

Katara is trembling, but she won't cry, not even in front of him.

Zuko reaches for her, and she melts into his embrace. She is exhausted, like she's carried the world on her shoulders the entire way back from the South Pole. The weight of loss, the weight of her selfishness.

("I loved him," Katara will say to Zuko one night. "Was that not enough?")

This, she thinks, is the real price of love.

* * *

The year passes. The months bleed into one another. 

Nothing had to change, but everything did. That was the way of the world, and they both hated it.

By the time they approach their second anniversary, Mai and Aang are dull memories of the past, and it hurts more than either the Fire Lord or Lady would ever admit.

In the night, Katara dreams of Aang. She likes to play this game where she imagines another wedding, another life, another world. A world where she wakes up and she is greeted by grey eyes instead of the empty expanse of red silk. And for some time she mourns, the way she would mourn death; for it is death, the death of a dream. 

She is good. She lives, she learns. She brings peace, she brings order. Every day hollows her out, and it only makes her burn brighter. She works and she builds and she mends and she heals, and she lies awake and plays her tedious little game.

Zuko is there, always—warm and substantial, and never too close. She knows everything about him and he knows everything about her—and yet they are never too close.

Katara dreams. She reaches out for that picture of another life, and it crumbles between her fingers. Love lost until there is nothing.

Their marriage had never felt lonely in the first year. The second year, it's the loneliest thing in the world.

* * *

"Say something." Zuko is watching her warily, unable to read her expression. "Please," he adds.

She tilts her head. Zuko has always know that Katara is beautiful—but here, in her robes of dark red and her eyes icy blue, she looks like she's been carved from a dream. "There's nothing to be said, Zuko. We don't have to think about it." She turns to the other councilmen. "We don't need to discuss anything about heirs any time soon."

One of them sigh. "We're aware of your—predicament, my lady," he says. "But this marriage must produce something."

"I am barely twenty years old," Katara says sharply, and despite the situation, Zuko can't help but admire, as he always does, the ease with which she handles the council. "Zuko and I are in no position to think about children."

Du Yun shakes his head. "If we had known we would've had the Fire Lord marry someone less useless—"

Anger, hot and sharp, begins to boil his blood. But before he can open his mouth, Katara's hand lands firmly on his wrist, a silent warning.

"I've tried to be patient with you, Councilman," Katara says, her voice low and clear. "But it seems that even after all this time, you're incapable of understanding my position. And you seem to forget that I am a woman to be respected, not a glorified pawn in your stupid game. I am your _Fire Lady._ I am Zuko's equal. You will treat me the way you treat him, if you want to continue to speak here."

Du Yun looks as though he would like to say something, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. "This meeting is adjourned," Katara sighs, her tone softening. She gets to her feet, the headpiece of the Fire Lady seeming to glow. Zuko stands as well, and together, they leave.

It isn't until they reach the hallway near their personal quarters where Katara finally sighs and leans against the wall, and it looks as though someone has sucked the life out of her entirely. "I hate them sometimes."

Zuko manages a small smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you almost enjoy putting them in their place."

"Sometimes I almost do," she responds, but her answering smile is small and unsteady.

"Katara," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. "What do you need?" He's asked her this question maybe a hundred times in the past few months, watching the slow process of her losing herself entirely. And he's tried and tried, but she seems lonelier with every passing day. "Tell me."

"I need to go to the South Pole," she says after a moment of silence. 

Zuko blinks. "I thought you and Aang—"

"It's not for that," she says softly. "Actually, I—I want you to come with me."

"Why?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I want to go see my family, but I can't go back alone."

Zuko doesn't even hesitate—he can't hesitate when it comes to her. "Of course," he promises. "I'll go with you."

* * *

They are still at sea when their second anniversary finally arrives. It is cold here, at the bottom of the world. 

Zuko finds Katara standing at the railing of one of the royal ships, staring out at the sheet of blue-grey, the same color as her wedding dress all those months ago. He stands next to her, closer than necessary, but neither of them mind.

"I wish you would tell me what's bothering you," he admits, putting his elbows on the railing. "You don't have to, obviously. But sometimes, I wish you would."

He expects her to lash out, or at least to stoically refuse to say anything. But her shoulders sink, and she glances down. "I wasn't expecting it to be this lonely, you know. Being married like this." She glances sideways, though not quite at him. "I wasn't expecting to be here, to be stuck in a loveless marriage." She turns back to the ocean. "Not this young, anyway."

Zuko sighs. "Katara, it's not—it isn't a loveless marriage. You know I love you. You're my best friend." It feels odd to say that, almost as if he's lying.

"That's not the type of love I was talking about, was I?" Katara sighs. "I'm just so tired, Zuko. I'm tired all the time. My whole life, it seemed like I always had to be stuck in one place, either because of all the responsibilities I had or because I was too afraid of ever hurting anyone else. Ever since my mom died, I always felt like I had to make up for that loss, like I had to be her. Care for everyone in a way no one would ever care for me. And it hurt, to be responsible for so much. And it felt like it took away what I wanted, what I felt, what I was. And then with Aang, I—"

She stops. Zuko doesn't ask her to go on.

"We were good," she sighs. "Aang, he always respected me, but somehow I felt like I was always being reduced to the Avatar's girl. And he'd tell me, all the time, that I was so much more than that, but it was hard when everyone had the same idea. Sometimes, Zuko—sometimes I feel like I don't even exist anymore. Like I don't even know who I am anymore. Believe me, I love helping others and I don't _always_ mind the responsibility but I just completely lost myself in it. In all of it." She sniffs. "I'm not making any sense, am I?" There are tears on her face, and Zuko aches to reach up and wipe them away.

"I'm so lonely," she tells him. "Even in a world full of people I feel like the loneliest person in the world. And I thought that at least I'd have my friends to be with me. I thought that at least having you here would make it easier, but it doesn't. Nothing makes it easier, and I'm so tired."

Staring at the tears on her face, Zuko feels as though he is crumbling completely, and he puts an arm around her. "Believe me," he murmurs. "If there was anything I could do, _anything—_ I would."

Katara shakes her head. "I'm not saying that this marriage is bad, if that's what you think."

"I know what you're saying," he replies softly. "I know it feels like something's choking you all the time, and you can't even open your mouth to ask someone to help, least of all fighting back. And I know it's hard to recognize yourself sometimes, when you've given away so much of yourself to others that you don't even know if there's anything left behind."

She puts her head on his shoulder, shaking. 

_If two people were alone together, then they would not be alone,_ Iroh liked to tell him during their days on the run, but this could not be further from the truth where he and Katara are concerned. They are pressed together, standing by that railing, but they are millions of miles apart.

* * *

Zuko doesn't know when it happened exactly, but lying in bed at the South Pole, he realizes that he's stopped loving Mai.

* * *

They would both like to believe that they are enough for each other, and yet they are determined to remember the truth. That it isn't real, that none of it is.

It's a vicious cycle—he wants to make Katara happy, really, he does. And yet, in the end, he always has to evaluate what it really means, because at times, it seems to easy to forget that they are not actually married.

Zuko wonders, sometimes, if he's in love with Katara. He's not sure he ever really wants to know.

* * *

Katara wonders, sometimes, if she's in love with Zuko. But she never thinks about it for too long—it seems like a horrific betrayal of her morals, of whatever allegiance she still seems to have towards Aang. It feels wrong; everything does.

Despite that, she can't deny the surprising easiness with which she had finally broken down and told Zuko how she really felt—Katara's never been one for sharing her feelings with others.

So why was it so easy to talk to him? To tell him something that she couldn't even admit to herself for years?

It's an odd thought. Regardless, it doesn't make it better. Everyone has always maintained the belief that telling someone about your sorrows would make them lighter, but it still feels like a boulder on her chest.

She wonders what her mother would say if she could see her now.

* * *

It would be the natural course of things for the two of them to start talking to each other more, to tear down their carefully built walls and to trust, as friends should.

(Zuko could never just be her friend. This, at least, is one truth that is easy to ignore, for now.)

But Katara is Katara, and Zuko is Zuko. Things have changed, now, coming up on their third year of marriage. There is barely any trace of the nearly childish ease they had the first year—the dance lessons, the hours spent taking a breath together. It is not the relative detachment they'd had from each other during the second year, either, the hushed conversations, the nearly minimal acknowledgment of each other's presence.

They have their nightmares—they never speak of them. One would hope that their loneliness would subside now that they are both aware of it. It doesn't.

* * *

On a spring night, Katara makes her way to her— _their—_ favorite courtyard. It's a beautiful night, and she wants to feel the breeze, wants to be reminded that she is not shut inside with only her regrets to keep her company.

Inexplicably, she stops at Zuko's door. Despite everything, despite what they have hidden from each other, she is his best friend, and he is hers. 

Maybe if she tries, things could change. Maybe she would make it off of this island, and maybe everything would stop hurting so much. Maybe if she considered the possibility of falling, trusting that someone would be there to catch her.

(she always imagined that it would be Aang. Aang, who listens to her late at night, who holds her when she cries. Aang, who reminds her that she is substantial and real and that she exists, that she feels things, that she is not fading away.)

Katara knocks once, softly. If Zuko's asleep, he won't hear it.

The door swings open and someone is falling into her arms, no hesitation, no distrust. Katara can feel something wet in the crook of her neck—Zuko's crying, silently.

She walks forward, guiding him forward and pushing the door shut with one hand.

"I'm sorry," he says against her skin. "I'm so sorry, Katara."

"How'd you know it was me?" she murmurs into his impossibly soft hair.

"Who else would it be at this hour?"

Katara tilts her head down, her nose skimming his hairline. "One of the councilmen, maybe."

A small, choked laugh bubbles from his lips. It is nearly humorless. "They wouldn't knock."

"Tell me," she says quietly. _Tell me what hurt you. Tell me what you dreamed about, and I'll make it go away._

"Sometimes," Zuko says quietly. "I still dream about the war."

Katara tries to not stiffen in his embrace. They are standing near his bed, locked together in a tight embrace. His fingers skim her lower back before tightening on her hips, as if he is reminding himself that she is there. 

"I dream about the Agni Kai with my sister," he continues. "That, most of all. Sometimes, she kills me. Sometimes you aren't there to save me."

His lashes are impossible long; Katara can feel them brushing her skin whenever he blinks. She feels strangely calm, strangely at peace. "Sometimes you are there," Zuko murmurs. "And I watch her hurt you. Or kill you. And sometimes neither of us make it, and it always ends the same. Where I can't get up and I have to watch you. It feels like a memory, it's so real. I always see the way you look at me before you close your eyes, telling me it wasn't your fault. But it is, every single time."

"There isn't a single universe in which we didn't save each other," Katara tells him, and she brings her hands to his face, tilting it up so she can gaze into his eyes of honey and gold. Something tugs at her then, the smallest urge to kiss him. "You wouldn't have let me die. And I wouldn't have let you die."

For a long time, he just looks at her, eyes darting all over her face as if he wants to commit every small detail to memory. "Don't go," he says finally. "Please."

Katara couldn't say no. She could never say no to him, not anymore.

He seems to be trying to not suffocate her when they lie down on the bed, even going as far as to keep a few inches between them. The room is nearly in complete darkness, but she can still see the outlines of the scar left by Azula's lightning.

He reaches out eventually, lacing his fingers with hers, knowing they will still be joined when they wake up. 

Katara couldn't say no to him. She doesn't want to.

* * *

That's the only night Katara spends with him for a long time, and it's the best sleep they get for a long time. They have their nightmares, yes, but when they wake up, they have each other. And for one hazy moment before reality and memory sinks in, in the seconds after they've opened their eyes for the first time that morning, it is enough.

* * *

Katara always wonders why it's so easy to feel as though she doesn't exist when she is literally one of the most influential people in the world, one of the most respected people, even before she had the role of Fire Lady. Her name will not be forgotten, but Katara can't help but feel as though the essence of her being has already been lost, leaving behind a hollow shell to be filled only by the pain and problems of someone else.

* * *

In the summer, the councilmen ask her about an heir again. And she silences them, again.

"What are we going to do?" Zuko asks her that night.

"Nothing," she replies. "We're still young, Zuko. We'll figure it out."

* * *

Their third anniversary approaches. It rains, just like it did on their first anniversary. 

And for the first time in a long time, they fight. It is not a mindless, trivial quarrel—it's bigger than that. It always has been.

If there is something that both Zuko and Katara excel at, it is keeping everything bottled up inside, storms that slowly rise to the surface.

Neither can even imagine why they'd be fighting in the first place—Zuko had only meant to ask Katara how she was holding up. For their anniversary was less of a day of regret and sorrow than happiness. But even after all this time, their tempers remained, their hearts raw from a war they would never really recover from.

"Stop treating me like I'm broken all the time," she tells him, turning away.

"I don't!" he protests. "You know I don't!"

"Why can't you just let it go?" she hisses, whirling around to face him. "Why can't you accept that this won't be the perfect situation, the perfect marriage? Why are you _so_ determined to be all up in my business, Zuko? What do you gain from making all of my problems your own?"

"God, Katara, I'm not asking you to act like everything is different," he spits. "I'm not asking you to be stuck in some delusion that I married you for _love."_

That last statement hurts them both. Neither can understand why.

"I just want you to talk to me," he says, trying to soften his tone, but it doesn't work. "I have been trying and trying to get through to you but I get nothing. It's not about forcing you to act like my wife, okay? But we're friends. Right?"

Katara looks away from him. "You don't actually mean that. You don't actually care—no one has."

Zuko recoils in shock. "You can't mean that," he sighs, looking as though all the wind has been knocked out of him. "Not after everything—"

"Everything _what?"_ Katara hisses. "After I told you how I felt _one time?"_

"Katara, stop," he says. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Oh, I don't know?" Her tone is derisive, mocking. "Honestly, Zuko, do you really know me at all?"

"Of course I do," Zuko replies.

"You're so sure of yourself, aren't you, without even bothering to look further." Katara's words are bitter, poisonous. "Even now, you never think. You're absolutely delusional, unable to see the truth other than the truth you want to hear. And I hate you for it, I really do." She doesn't, but there's no stopping now. "You sound just like him sometimes, just like Ozai."

The words are out of her mouth before she can even process them, and she feels as though she's stood up too fast, the odd sensation of the ground rushing up towards her despite being firmly upright.

Zuko falls silent, his face paling, making the scar stand out even more. And suddenly, Katara wants him to scream at her, to set something on fire. Rage would be better than this; anything would be better than this, this dull, unfeeling silence, the silence of true, gut-wrenching pain.

"I didn't—I didn't mean—" she tries to say, but Zuko shakes his head. His eyes are shining, looking too bright. 

"I know what you meant," he tells her. Katara's heart is pounding so loudly she wonders whether Zuko can hear it. "I know exactly what you wanted to say." He's backing away from her now, and she sees that his hands are shaking. "Happy anniversary, Katara. I hope you're happy."

He's gone before she can say anything else.

* * *

She wishes she had never opened her mouth. She wishes she was better, and she wishes she could erase the image of blank pain on Zuko's face from her mind.

He doesn't speak to her, not more than he needs to. He isn't angry, of course. They both know he could never be angry with her, and that makes it infinitely worse.

It's them. It's fear and it's pain and it's regret, and it's not enough.

* * *

Two weeks later, Zuko is poisoned.

Katara doesn't leave his side all night, pushing hair away from his sweaty forehead. It's the most time they've spent together since they've fought, and Katara makes herself a delirious promise that she'll never leave his side again. She's done the best she can with healing him, and he'll live; although, it will take him time to heal, for the poison to come out of his system.

He slides in and out of consciousness—sometimes he says her name, and sometimes he says something that she cannot quite decipher.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to her mouth, kissing the pale skin. She nearly tells him she loves him, and she nearly believes it, too.

* * *

"I heard you," he says one night, weeks after he's been fully healed. "All those nights you sat by my side. All the stories you told me about growing up. All the times you apologized."

Before she can open her mouth, Zuko is close to her, too close, not close enough, his hands on her shoulders. "I forgive you." His eyes sweep over her like a tidal wave. "But please, Katara, never compare me to him again if you don't mean it." Slowly, tentatively, he lifts a hand to put it on her cheek. "You tell me if I ever really become like him, alright? You tell me and you find some way to kill me or something. But please, never, _ever_ use that to hurt me. I couldn't live with it, not if it came from you."

"You care that much about what I think?"

Zuko smiles, but it is sad. "I always have, Katara."

* * *

Things change. Maybe things are better now.

And somehow, they are not so alone, not as much as they used to be. They have their secrets, they have their fears. They have each other, and they wonder, more often than not, whether it's enough.

* * *

Katara has to leave for about a month to oversee some medical issue near Ba Sing Se. 

It's the longest month of Zuko's life, somehow.

She comes back looking tired, but happy. Zuko can't greet her at the docks on the day of her return because he's too busy with meetings with the council, but he does see her walking down the hallway near their quarters, and without hesitation they throw themselves into each other's arms.

It should not make sense. It should not be this way. Here, they are alone, with no one to perform for, no one to impress. But they hold each other lovingly, carefully, firmly. They don't let go for a long time.

* * *

Zuko loves Katara, he is sure of it. Even though he has tried not to, he has surrendered himself to her entirely. He has fallen in love, irrevocably, unconditionally. He has fallen in love with her, and that is all that matters.

For now, at least, he can live with keeping it to himself.

* * *

Katara loves Zuko. She loves him with every fiber of his being, and she wishes she knew sooner.

She can never tell him.

* * *

Their fourth anniversary passes in silence. So does their fifth. They learn, they love, they live. They dream and they fear, but they have each other. And though neither can admit it to the other, it is enough. They are sure of it.

* * *

There's an attempt on Katara's life some time before their sixth anniversary. Zuko doesn't rest for weeks, not until the assassin is caught.

And he sits by her bedside. Also poison. It's almost poetic, horribly so.

She's confined to bed for three weeks. 

During the fourth week, one of the healers pull Zuko aside, and they tell him.

"She will live."

He cries into her blanket, from relief or from sadness or from pure joy, he can't tell.

* * *

Like sunlight breaking through a storm, Katara recovers before their anniversary, and they spend it in relative peace, spending every hour together.

"I thought I would've lost you," he admits. He's trembling. "I thought that it would all be over."

"You still have me," she assures him. "I'm still here."

Zuko takes her hand. He is always braver around her. "I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you without you knowing the truth."

"The truth?" she asks, but she already knows. She always has, Zuko suspects. Deep down. 

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you. And I couldn't—god, Katara, if I lost you—"

She shakes her head, rising to her feet. "Zuko. No. You won't lose me." 

He stands as well, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I tried as hard as I could, Katara. I wanted this to be easy for as long as possible. But I love you. I love you so much, and I know that I was never, ever supposed to." He lifts her hand and presses it to his chest, right above his lightning scar. "I'm yours. Every single bit of who I am. I'm yours. And I hated myself for it, loving you under these circumstances. But I can't imagine _not_ loving you. Not in this world or the next."

She is silent for a long time. Zuko suddenly starts to regret everything, and is about to pull away before she grabs him and holds him in place.

"We've been married for six years," she breathes. "And you're telling me now?"

Zuko can't help it. He laughs. And then he kisses her.

* * *

Katara has kissed Zuko once, six years ago, at their wedding. He had held back, then. He doesn't now. He kisses her the way he loves—fiercely, firmly. He pours his heart and soul into it and he holds her tight, and in his embrace, Katara feels real.

He kisses her cheeks and he kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat and the curve of her shoulder. They fight for breath and yet they are only breathing when they are together, when there is nothing between them, absolutely nothing. He rests his forehead against her collarbone, finger trembling slightly on her hips. He's tall—he nearly has to bow to keep his head there.

"I love you," he says again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Katara replies. She'd say it a million times if she could. "God, Zuko. I loved you for so long."

Silk slides to the floor, and there is only them.

And it is enough.

* * *

Later, in the morning, Katara lies behind him, her body curled around his. He has her hand pressed to his mouth, breathing softly and evenly.

"I can't believe it took us six years to figure it all out," he tells her. "I wish I could've told you sooner." He laughs softly. "Six years."

"No," Katara murmurs, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. She is real, and she is alive. "Ten."

Zuko's laugh warms her palm. "Ten."

* * *

Six years after Zuko and Katara become Fire Lord and Lady, they get married. It is small. It is perfect. Their friends are there, all of them. 

Katara marries in purple silk and with a smile on her face, and Zuko kisses her properly this time.

It's not perfect. But as Zuko likes to tell Katara, and as Katara likes to tell Zuko, it is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are mad epic


End file.
